Page 65 of Riot's Thorn
That’s it. Punishment over.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
RIOT
It’s not that I thought she’d get away. There’s nowhere for her to go out here. It’s that I knew I shouldn’t have brought her. Seeing me bloody after practically beating a man to death can only dredge up bad memories, memories I’ve been working to distance myself from, and now, I have to start all over.
And she fucking ran from me. If we’d been in public, she might’ve gotten away. Those are the thoughts running through my mind as I fuck her with no concern for her comfort or pleasure. She needs this lesson so she knows I’m dead ass when I tell her I’ll never let her go.
I slam her down onto me one last time and don’t even enjoy the orgasm. That’s not what this is. It’s a claiming. Okay, fine. Maybe I do enjoy it a little. How could I not? Her ass is red from my handprints, I have another man’s blood all over me, and her tight pussy is milking me so well. But Itrynot to enjoy it.
“Come here,” I say, undoing my belt from around her wrists before turning her around. I’m proud of myself for recognizing her emotions and adjusting my behavior accordingly. It’s what a good boyfriend would do, and I want to be that for her.
“I’m sorry,” she says, digging her tear-damp face into my T-shirt. I should tell her there’s probably blood there, but I don’t want to ruin the moment. It should be dry by now.
“Shh,” I soothe. “It’s done, and I’m so proud of you for taking your punishment like a good girl.”
“You are?” she asks, lifting off my shoulder. I’m relieved there’s none of that asshole’s blood on her.
I answer by taking her mouth with mine, plunging my tongue in to tangle with hers. We’re both a fucking mess; her with scrapes and scratches up her legs, cum leaking between her thighs, and I’m sure she’ll have bruises from landing hard, and me with my knuckles split open, covered in blood, and definitely some bruises from hitting the ground with no regard for my own safety. But this kiss is perfect.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” I stand and tuck my cock back in my pants before I pull her to her feet and find her discarded panties and shorts. I crouch to help her into them, her messy pussy inches from my face. I’m hit with an intrusive thought I can’t ignore. Some of my cum, and I’m sure hers as well, is spread over her cunt. I swipe it off and push to my feet. “Open.” Her pretty pink lips part. “Now suck.” She swirls her tongue around my digits and then sucks them clean.
“We taste good together,” she says.
“Fuck,” I curse, debating a second round, but she deserves better than this. This time when I crouch, I hold her panties and shorts open for her and wince at the once-white fabric that’s now ripped and stained.
“Please tell me we don’t have to go back inside to get to your bike,” she says, picking bits of weeds from her hair. “I’m a mess.”
“Nah, we can walk around the building.”
Grinning, she takes my hand, and we walk all the way back to the Honey Pot. I have to give it to her—she managed to get pretty far before I caught her. I’m still not sure what she thought shewas doing. She’s lucky a sidewinder or something worse didn’t get her.
After a nearly mile-long walk, we finally reach my bike. I help with her helmet before climbing on and holding a hand out.
“This is going to be uncomfortable,” she says.
“All part of the punishment.”
“Will the punishment be over when we get home?” She swings a long leg over the bike.
“Is my little thorn horny?” I ask, enjoying the flush that creeps up her cheeks.
“I mean, wouldn’t you be?”
I feel the corners of my lips tip up ever so slightly, my version of a smile, and start the bike. If I tell her I’m not nearly done making her pay for trying to leave me, she might not come back home, especially now that she knows my brand of punishment.
When we get home twenty minutes later, I take her right into the shower and clean us both off. She’s still on edge, her hands reaching out in desperation, but I shut her down. She doesn’t know it yet, but she won’t be finding release tonight. This is a lesson I must sear into her mind because next time, it might not be a harmless desert she runs into. I’m the only one who can protect her, and she has to learn to runtome, not away, even when it’s me who ignites her fear.
Once we’re clean, teeth are brushed, and she’s used the bathroom, I tell her to go get in bed. . . naked. Her eyes lit up with excitement. I hate that I’ll be responsible for taking that light away—mostly, anyway.
To be honest, I thrive on having control, both in and out of the bedroom. It’s clear, even without a therapist’s insight, that this stems from the lack of control I experienced during my childhood. My mother manipulated me and dominated every aspect of my existence. By ending her life, I also eradicated thevulnerable side of myself that permitted such manipulation, and from that, a new version of me emerged.
While she waits, I get my rats out to run around for ten minutes before bed. They didn’t get a lot of time to exercise today, and that’s when they get destructive. I’ve had to rebuild parts of their enclosure after they chewed it to pieces from too much time alone.
I decompress in my corner, feeding Amy and Ben a handful of nuts and dried berries in between bouts of wrestling. As soon as I feel like they’ll be okay until morning, I call them back into their enclosure and shut them in.
Parker sets her book on her nightstand when I walk into the room. The fleece blanket and sheets are pulled up over her tits, but her shoulders are bare, telling me she did what I asked. I flip off the light and pause only long enough to push my boxers to the ground before climbing in.
